


you make me so happy

by orphan_account



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: American Horror Story AU, Angst, Anorexia (Brief), Depression, Ghosts, M/M, Minho Chuck And Gally Are Mentioned Like Once, Self-harm (brief), Smut, Suicide, Teresa Ships It, The Death Cure Dialogue, The Death Cure Spoilers, attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-12 23:47:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3359810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas is a ghost that haunts a house, Newt's parents move into that house. Newt's parents are assholes, Newt's sad, and Thomas makes him happy.</p><p>American Horror Story AU, one shot.</p><p>DO NOT REPOST THIS FIC ANYWHERE ELSE. JUST BECAUSE IT IS ORPHANED DOESNT MEAN IT IS YOURS TO TAKE. DONT BE SHITTY</p>
            </blockquote>





	you make me so happy

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off of American Horror Story and I used some scenes and dialogue from the show. This isn't exactly like AHS, but I was inspired by it. I also used the words of James Dashner's book The Death Cure in here. I give all copyrights I used from his book to him.
> 
> P.S, I've never written smut before, so beware if my smut writing is cringy.

Moving from Europe all the way to America was stressful and draining, not that Newt wasn't already stressed and drained, it just added much more. He doesn't understand why his bloody parents, who were so close to getting a divorce, decided America was a good place to start over again. Newt hated his dad, his dad was nothing selfish asshole in Newt's opinion.

The realtor was giving one last tour of the house Newt's parents already purchased, and the house was old and seemed like it was built in the 40s. The outside was made from brown, chipping brick, six windows facing the family and realtor with a dull red entrance door. There were wheats growing up against the wooden fence.

"This is just one of the many houses in this neighbourhood that was built in 1943," The realtor stated, brushing past the hall as the Isaac family stepped inside the house. "But this particular house was built by Doctor Nicholas Fitzpatrick, who I must say, died in the very room," The blonde realtor knocked on the door on the stairs, a sharp gleam in her eye. Mrs. Isaac fidgeted, fairly uncomfortable. "But don't you worry, nothing else has happened since then. Now, let's start with the kitchen."

Newt glanced around, the whole house practically made from dark maple wood. The door boarders held thick maple wood, the stair railing were also maple. The colours in the house were all neutral, giving a bland impression. Newt was bored.

Newt followed his parents around the first floor, wanting to just look around the house himself since this was actually their house right now. What sort of insterested him, though, were paintings in the living room. They were odd, sort of scary as one of the paintings had a really tall, thick guy looming over smaller pedestrians, its eyes big and red, faint horns on its head. Newt felt shivers up his spine, hearing his parents and realtor leave the room, but feeling as if someone was watching him.

Newt peeked at the corner of his eyes at both sides of the room, seeing nothing but horrible wallpaper in dimmed lighting and more awful paintings leaning against the wall. He turned around and jogged back to his parents, that feeling of someone watching him still prominent. He guessed he was being quite silly, it was an unfamiliar place and it was probably normal to feel watched in unfamiliar territory.

"We've gone through the whole first floor, and I know you are all capable of giving yourself the tour of the second floor. There's just eight rooms and two bathrooms up there, nothing quite special. If you have any questions or concerns, you have my card and I must get going." The blonde realtor gave the Isaac family a light grin before leading herself out of the house completely.

When the realtor closed the front door behind her, Mrs. Isaac gave an exhale of relief. "She sort of drowned my vibe," Mrs. Isaac muttered, earning a chuckle from Mr. Isaac. "Well, I think I know a way to get your vibe back up to the shore," Mr. Isaac muttered seducingly, ignorant of Newt glaring at him just seven feet away.

"Before you two bloody rip each other's clothes off, I'm going to go find my room," Newt announced quite sternly, turning around and jogging up the stairs before his parents could reply.

The realtor was right, there was the front hall that held two doors on the left, three on the right. Newt went to the end of the hall, turning the right corner to see four doors on the left wall and one on the right. Going to the door at the far end of the hall on the left, Newt quickly noticed that it was the only door with a light tint of purple paint coated on the door, peeling and softly scratched.

Newt grabbed the doorknob and turned, pushing the door open swiftly. The room was an average size like his room back in England, the only differences was that there was an empty bed in the center of the room, a maple dresser/vanity, the closet missing its door, and a white sheet draped over a rectangular frame on the left wall. Curious, Newt made his way to the white sheet.

His fingers brushed against the hem of the bright white sheets and with a flick of the wrist, the sheet feel airily to the scratched hardwood floor. Newt raised an eyebrow at the chalkboard - which was quite lame. He felt around the edges of the board, trying to feel for screws so maybe he can take the thing off but found nothing.

"Newt! We gotta fetch our boxes!" Mrs. Isaac hollered from downstairs. As Newt stepped back from the chalkboard, the feeling of someone watching him returned. He turned around, eyes darting around the empty room. With a sigh of defeat, Newt walked out of the room, closing the door shut with a low slam.

~~~

It took two whole days to unpack everything and get them organized. Newt's room - which was the first room he went in which had the chalkboard - was somewhat decent, his parents had the massive master bedroom which was the only door on the other side of Newt's room.

He left he chalkboard, deciding that it okay (only because it wouldn't come off the wall no matter how hard he tugged at it). His double bed was now bathed in his teal bed sheets, four pillows, and a light comforter that matched the sheets. The wooden bed frame (maple, surprise surprise) rode the bed half a foot off the ground with a decorative carving on the front board. He left the dresser/vanity in the same place, but took down the mirror and made it into a desk, putting writing utensils and paper in the dressers. The closet was filled with his clothes, the hangers holding his sweaters and cardigans and shirts that didn't deserve to be folded.

Newt was saitsfied.

School started for Newt next Tuesday, and he was attending the public school just a quarter of a mile away from his house, and his mom suggested that he walk since they didn't own a car just yet. Newt went along with it, wanting nothing really to do with his parents. They frustrated him. He wanted to be alone.

"Newt, you in here? 'Tis a big house, you can be anywhere," Mrs. Isaac joked, entering the dim room and seeing Newt relaxing on his bed. Newt picked at the hem of his grey shirt, reaching over briefly to tuck his growing hair behind his ear. He didn't want to talk to his mum right now, he just wanted to lay in this unfamiliar bed and stare at the cracking ceiling, maybe play some music on his iHome.

Mrs. Isaac's warm smile faltered, her brown eyes Newt inherited losing its small glimmer.

"I know you're feeling a bit angry about this whole situation," Mrs. Isaac started, earning a scoff from Newt. "A bit? I'm so angry, I mean, you guys we're so close to getting a bloody divorce yet you decide it's best to try and start over in a damn different country," Newt mumbled in one breath, his cheeks tinting pink from lack of oxygen. "We still love each other, Newt," Mrs. Isaac sighed, rubbing her forehead in exasperation.

"Yeah yeah, okay." Newt rolled his eyes, picking at his fingers. Mrs. Isaac looked highly irritated as she slipped out of the room, closing the door lightly behind her.

Newt looked over at his nightstand, the alarm clock glittering in red acids displayed the time; 8:09. The sun outside hasn't even set fully, another odd thing that happens in America compared to England. Newt shimmied out of his pants, tossing them on the floor. He peeled his blanket back and writhed to get comfortable. He wasn't tired but he wanted to sleep.

He laid still in bed, eyes closed, steady breathing. The feeling of someone watching him returned, something that hasn't happened since the first day he moved in.

Newt slowly opened his eyes, seeing a blurry silhouette at the end of his bed. Terrified, he shot up, eyes trained on some boy. The boy had dark hair, his bangs cut straight across his forehead, straight hair peeking behind his ears, a style Newt wouldn't see trending these days but somehow suited that boy in front of him. His eyes were a much darker brown, his nose pointed up and fairy-like. He was wearing a slightly tattered blue V-neck and dark pants.

"You're being pretty unfair to your mum," the boy said, making Newt's hands quiver at his voice. Soft and airy with a mere rasp. The boy sauntered to the chalkboard, Newt's eyes following him. The boy picked up the piece of chalk from the handle and wrote out a big T in the corner of the evergreen board. "I mean, I would hate her to if I was you but I'm not you and seeing the way you talk to her is agitating me," the boys mumbled, tossing the spare chalk on the floor.

Newt, finally brought out of his trance asked, "Who are you?" His voice sharp and demanding. The boy turned around, "Oh, right. I'm Thomas," the boy, or Thomas, said. Newt nodded, pulling the covers over his chest absent-mindingly. "Okay, what are you doing in my room? Did you break and enter?" Newt demanded, narrowing his eyes at Thomas.

Thomas snickered. "Actually this is my room," He said, moving to sit on the chair at Newt's desk. " They took the closet door down, I see. Too much bloody scratches made it gruesome, I assume. And I don't like what you did to my vanity. Where is it? The mirror, I mean," Thomas said. Newt gritted his teeth. "If this is some kind of sick joke, just leave! I could phone the police."

The lamp on Newt's bedside flicker, drawing his attention for a slight moment before his eyes darted back to the now empty chair. The fuck, Newt thought. He threw the covers off his body and rushed out of bed. He walked over the the desk, running his fingers over the chair's back as he looked around his empty room, the T on the chalkboard taunting him.

~~~

Newt hasn't seen Thomas anywhere for another two days. Not around the streets, or even his bedroom. The boy never returned and Newt was feeling overwhelmed and relieved all at once. School started tomorrow and he was already stressing out about it. It was the middle of the goddamn second semester and he's lucky he even got accepted into school without being told to just continue next school year.

He took a hot shower, not minding the bathroom lights flickering because they always did that. He used his apple-scented shampoo and mum's raspberry body wash. It was an odd combination but the damn raspberries were irresistible.

When he turned off the tap, he stepped out of the shower and dried himself off with his red towel. He wrapped the towel around his stomach, something he's always did instead of wrapping it around his waist, and wiped off steam on the mirror nailed on the back of the washroom door - the mirror from the vanity.

His heart stopped when he swiped the steam off, seeing the same boy from two days ago behind him, a smirk on his face. Newt turned around, seeing himself alone. The lights flickered, more prominent, and Newt rushed out of the washroom and to his room across the hall. His heart was beating rapidly as he shut the door behind him, leaning against the back of the door.

Gaining some composure, Newt went to his closet and pulled out some night clothes; a navy shirt and grey sweats. He put on some underwear and got dressed, climbing into bed. The boy popped in his mind.

Was it just his imagination? Was the boy - Thomas - some crazy psychopath who probably lived in their basement or attic? And why did Thomas have to look cute? Newt was supposed to loathe him for being some creep.

Newt slipped into unconsciousness easily with a lot on his mind.

 

Newt woke up with his mum shaking his shoulders. "Wake up, you have school today," Mrs. Isaac smiled lightly. Newt moaned softly, "I want to stay home, screw year 11," he mumbled, pressing in his suddenly inviting bed, relishing the warmth and softness. Mrs. Isaac chuckled. "It's just one and a half more years, Newt. After that you can go move back to England or the mountains or even become a prositute on the streets of LA." Newt smiled, fighting the urge to laugh because he didn't want his mum to be satisfied that she made Newt smile.

Newt sat up dreadfully, watching his mum leave the room, leaving the door ajar. He thrusted himself out of bed, walking to his closet and pulling out a grey sweater, black jeans, and a brown tank top. He slipped the clothes on, still groggy from his sleep. Once he was done getting dressed, he looked around his room, unsure what to do. He didn't have any school supplies, including a damn school bag. Deciding to just wing it, Newt grabbed his iPhone and made his way downstairs.

~~~

The public school provided school supplies; paper, pencils, erasers, and a whole new binder. It was odd because his first class teacher handed them out to him while the whole class watched. It made him anxious and he secretly hated his history teacher for making a big fuss involving fourteen pairs of eyes on him. School was easy, he took most of his hard classes last semester in England so second semester seemed lighter.

He made no friends, just some girl with really pale skin that it looked almost sickly from his English class said hi to him. He sat alone at lunch, avoiding all the curious eyes looking at him. He was ecstatic when he finally was able to walk home at the end of the school day. Only to find out that his parents were both gone.

Newt furrowed his eyebrows, tucking his new binder under his arm and digging in his pocket for the extra key his mum gave him when they first moved in. Before he could shove the key in its place, the door swung open. It was the boy, smirking.

Newt stared at him, mouth opened slightly. The boy's brown eyes stared back, before he stepped back. "Well come in, will you," Thomas said. Newt broke out of his trance, shaking his head and pushing past the boy. He rushed upstairs, hearing the boy's footsteps behind him, following him. He jogged to his room, slipping inside and closing the door shut before the boy could enter. He locked the door with the built in lock on the doorknob, tossing his binder on the floor and pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Newt dialed 911, turning around to freak out when the boy in front of Newt stopped him. It was him. "What the actual FUCK," Newt yelled, pressing his phone against his ear after pressing the last one. "Hang up the phone," the boy said. The phone lost connection after the boy said it, an obnoxious beep being heard instead of the police. The boy smiled. "Seriously, I don't want to hurt you or anything," Thomas said.

Newt felt overwhelmed. "Oh my, god, oh my, god, what the hell, man?"

The boy chuckled darkly, "Unless you're a major ass, I won't hurt you. I need nice people for a change," Thomas said, turning around and walking to Newt's bed, seating himself on the edge. Newt's mind was hazy. "What do you mean?" He asked, watching the boy apparently get comfy on the bed. Once Thomas - Newt has to start thinking the boy as Thomas instead of "the boy" - was laying in the smack middle, arms tucked under his head, he shrugged vaguely. 

"Everyone who's ever has this room was a dick. Of course, there were only six families before you, but I didn't like any of them," Thomas said, looking around the room that hasn't changed much from his last visit. The T on the chalkboard was still bold, a sign that Newt hasn't bothered to erase it. "What's that?" Thomas asked, sitting up and pointing at Newt's iHome.

"Oh, that's my iHome," Newt informed, feeling slightly better. Thomas crawled out of bed and walked over to the black box. "What's it do?" He asked, pressing the red button. "Plays music," Newt replied dryly.

"Oh man, haven't heard music since like 1942. Are you allowed to play music? Most of the families weren't and listened to it with big things over their ears. Earphones, headphones, I think." This confused Newt a lot. 1942? What? Newt shrugged, pushing the questions back. "I guess?" He answered. "Oh, then play something." Thomas said.

Newt slowly pulled out his phone, Thomas instantly slinging over and looming over his shoulder to see the interesting device. "That's a phone, yes, the last family, the girl, had something like that except they were smaller," Thomas said, close to Newt's ear that Newt shifted uncomfortably. Newt moved away from Thomas, putting his phone on the iHome and shuffled his songs.

Lights out,  
I still hear the rain,  
These images that fill my head,  
Now keep my fingers from making mistakes,  
Tell my voice what it takes,  
To speak up,  
Speak up,

Newt awkwardly swayed back and forth, feeling uncomfortable as Thomas listened intently. "What is this?" Thomas asked. Newt shrugged, "Jasey Rae, All Time Low," he informed biting his lip. Thomas nodded, "I like it." Newt blushed, feeling foolish because this guy was supposed to be a creep but he's actually not really a creep.

Newt turned down the music and faced Thomas. "Why are you here?" Newt asked, wanting some answers from Thomas. "I should ask you that, but I already know." Thomas replied tauntingly. Newt gritted his teeth, feeling his jaw tighten.

"Answer me," Newt demanded, holding his composure together when all he wanted to do was shove the boy against the wall and punch his face in, maybe even kiss him because he was admittedly cute. "I died here way before this house was built," Thomas stated. Newt froze. Dead? "Y-you're lying, I mean, dead?" Newt said, feeling his heart race. What kind of psychopath was he actually encountering?

"No, I'm really serious. I died in 1943, when I was sixteen. My bones are buried under this house, and I decided to live here because I can, and Nicolas was fine with it, even offered me this room," Thomas said casually as if it was a normal thing to hear everyday. Newt felt vomit rise up but he held it down. "How did you die?" Newt choked out, hands shaking. "My dad murdered me for being gay. Horrible, yeah. This area used to be a deserted forest and he kidnapped me while I was sleeping and stabbed me eight times on my chest, wanna see?" Thomas asked, pulling his shirt up before Newt could reply.

Eight scars on his non-existent-muscled pecs. Newt blushed at the sight of his nipples. What the hell? He still had the body of a adolescent. But so did Newt. Newt wanted to touch his pecs.

"He buried me behind a big tree. They cut the forest down and built a neighbourhood eighteen years later and then sometime after that some guy decided it was grand to just build over my body, I mean, can you believe it?" Thomas was laughing like he just said the funniest thing in history while Newt felt dizzy.

"Y-you can't be serious? Ghosts aren't real, I," Newt need to sit down and he went to his bed and sat near the edge. Thomas stopped laughing, "Ghosts aren't real? I see them every single day and I am one. There's actually seven ghosts living in this house as we speak. Doctor Nicholas, that asshole, Teresa, a girl who committed suicide in the backyard sixty years ago, some exterminator that got attacked by wild wolfs under the house during his job, a baby who died three minutes after birth when the first family moved in, I call him Chuck and he's damn annoying, two nurses who were murdered by robbery, and Alby, the guy who roams the basement depressingly. God, I swear," Thomas mumbled, shaking his head and moving to sit beside Newt.

Newt felt out of breath. "Yeah, yeah, okay, sure, ghosts, okay. Why can I see you and not them?" Newt asked. Thomas shrugged. "They're not opaque, most of the time they want to stay transparent, I guess they don't want to be seen by you. Except Teresa, she was seen by your mum." Thomas chuckled, and Newt joined in flatly.

"There's a ghost baby?" Newt asked, hands clammy as he tried to change the subject. "Yeah. But, like, never mind. I should just stop. I realize this is so much for you to take in, I'll just leave for now." Thomas said, and before Newt could stop him, he looked beside where Thomas should be only to find the spot empty.

Newt ran his hands in his hair, falling back on his bed. He stared at the cracked ceiling, feeling totally lost and overwhelmed and terrified.

What the hell?

~~~

It was Saturday, nothing happened. Nothing meaning Thomas never showed up again. Newt was relieved because it gave him some time to think, but not too much because he didn't want to drop dead of exhaustion and he still had to think about school.

School was becoming a shit place for Newt, these guys in gym were assholes just because he didn't participate. The gym teacher was fine about him sitting on the bleachers with the fattest kid in class and some scrawny girl who had nose cannulas, but the guys teased him for that stupid reason and it gave Newt another reason to hate America.

The guy whom Newt hated the most from gym was some kid named Gally who had a potatoe for a nose. He was the biggest asshole to Newt.

He didn't need more stress brought up on him.

Newt rolled over in bed, clearing his mind of potatoe-faced Gally, and instead finding himself thinking of Thomas. The realtor, when she gave the family one last house tour, said that no deaths in this house were accounted, that no one other than the guy who built this house died in this house. It made Newt want to scream because what the hell? Thomas said he died long before this house was built, but what about the others? If there were even others.

"Hey," The familiar voice, soft and airy with a mere rasp, spoke at the far end of Newt's room.

"What do you even mean? The realtor said no one other than the bloody guy who built this bloody house died in said bloody house," Newt said, after shooting up out of his bed and came close to Thomas that there was four inches away from completely touching. Newt noticed and stepped back, face pink. Thomas shrugged, "That's not true, I guess she didn't tell you about all those other deaths because she needed to sell this house faster."

Thomas pushed past Newt, a small strut in his steps. Newt groaned in frustration

"What about what you said last time? Bloody scratches on the closet door?" Newt asked, frightened to hear what Thomas would say. Thomas's eyes went hazy, his expression unfathomable. "I was joking to scare you." Was all Thomas responded with, eyes regaining sanity.

"Okay, whatever. Starting from today, I won't think about this weird, paranormal crap as much, it's getting me so stressed out and I just... I'll pretend you're my friend," Newt's jaw was tightened when he first spoke, eventually taking a deep breath and speaking calmly. Thomas turned around from where he was standing beside Newt's bed.

"Great! Hi," Thomas grinned, flopping into Newt's bed and swimming under the blanket. Newt chuckled softly - because what the fuck? That looked so adorable - and inched closer to his bed before sitting on the edge. The mattress being shaken from Thomas's constant movement.

Once Thomas stopped, he peeked out from the blanket. "I forgot how comfy bed are. Haven't properly laid in one since, well, a long time," Thomas pushed himself in the pillows, closing his eyes. "Which reminds me; I can't sleep. I'm dead, I guess it's some con that dead people get." Thomas sighed, muttering the last part. Newt didn't say anything, unsure how to respond.

"Um, hey, um, tell me about yourself," Newt said, voice wavering with something that resembled uncertainty. Thomas shimmied under the blankets, covering his whole body for a few seconds before popping back out. "Okay." Thomas said.

"Well, I'm sixteen, and was sixteen for almost seventy years and my ghostly life was pretty bland. I'll tell you about my real life, okay?" Thomas asked, tucking his legs close to his chest. "Okay," Newt replied, urging him to continue.

"Okay, well, um. I have no siblings, but my mum was pregnant when I died but I never met the baby even as a ghost, anyway. In 1943, there wasn't really much stuff as there is today, and I didn't go to school or whatever. I did like to paint but I haven't painted in like, seventy years, and as I said a few days ago, I'm gay and my dad killed me because of it. Days used to be tough back then, you can kill a person and it won't be second thought about and I guess that's all?" Thomas said, picking a loose string on Newt's teal blanket. "Oh, and I really like this color," Thomas commented, fisting his hands in the blanket and rubbing it on his face. Newt chuckled. "Yeah, thanks."

Newt took a moment to take what Thomas said in, his thinking being cut short when Thomas spoke. "Yeah, but tell me about you. I mean, it's only fair," Newt grimaced. "Uh, sure." Newt shifted on the bed, crawling on top so that he sat at the edge, criss cross.

"Um, my name'a Newt, if you didn't know?" Newt asked, hearing Thomas test the name out. "Is it short for Newton? My friend in real life was also named Newton," Newt nodded. "Yeah, but I prefer Newt. Anyway, I'm seventeen. I'm from England, and I'm in year 11... That's all?" Newt was thinking about himself, what else was there to say?

"I don't believe you. What are your hobbies, what do you do for fun?" Thomas asked, sitting up and pulling the blanket in his lap. "Hobbies? Oh, um, I don't have any? I just, I basically stay in my room all day being eaten alive from my thoughts and bloody life, I." Newt sighed, rubbing his forearm uncomfortably, chewing his bottom lip. "Okay, that's fair, I guess." Thomas coaxed.

Newt felt tired, even though it was only two in the afternoon. He flopped sideways on his bed, pulling some blanket over his torso and closed his eyes. Thomas didn't move and the stillness made it even more relaxing. Newt kept his eyes closed, breathing steady, until he fell into a light sleep.

 

Newt has being shaken away for what felt like twenty minutes later, but the sun shining through Newt's window was orange. There were brown eyes staring at him, and they were dull, unlike his mums warm ones. "Huh?" Newt asked, confused as he groggily sat up. It came to him that it was Thomas.

"Sorry, but your clock says it's five and I assumed you would want to wake up so you'll be able to actually sleep at night," Thomas said. He was standing at the edge of Newt's bed, and Newt realized he was sleeping sideways at the edge of his bed. He groaned. "Yeah, thanks." He mumbled.

Newt crawled up his bed the his pillows, and Thomas began talking again. "That conversation we had earlier riled me up and I went to your parents' room and found paint in the closet. I wasn't sure if it was professional paint or not, and I used one of your papers, but here," Thomas pulled up a piece of paper from behind him and stretched it out to offer it to Newt. Newt eyed the paper, crawling over again and cautiously taking the paper. Turning it around, there was a smudgy painting of blue and peach.

"Oh, that's.. nice, really," Newt commented, unsure what it was. "It's you. Sleeping. I needed an object and you were just there. There were no colours that matched your bed cover color. Hope you don't mind." When Thomas said that, Newt slowly started to see it as him. It was vague, but it was surely him. Newt flushed. "I see it, wow. Thanks."

Newt stretched over to his nightstand, placing the painting over a picture frame of him and his mum when he was seven. "Thanks," Newt said again, his flush going down.

Newt looked around his room, anything to keep him a bit occupied as Thomas just stiff there. It was uncomfortable and Newt saw the paint bottles on the floor under the chalkboard, evidence that Thomas was telling the truth.

"Hey, play music," Thomas said. Newt nodded, feeling tense as he retrieved his phone from his pocket of the sweater he wore yesterday. He clicked the home button, seeing his battery red with a low percentage. "Can't. I need to charge my phone," Newt said, getting off his bed to plug in his phone by the nightstand.

Thomas deflated slightly, "Oh," Newt rolled his eyes. "It'll only take a while."

Newt threw himself back on the bed, exhausted just from waking up. He laid in bed while Thomas lowered himself on the ground at the end of his bed until only the top of his hair was visible from top of the bed frame. Newt writhed and shimmied to the end of the bed, peeking over the board and seeing Thomas tracing over the carvings on the board with his finger, the under of his nails dirty.

"Ew, your nails, man," Newt snickered. Thomas pulled his hand away and examined his dirty nails. "They're okay, better than yours," Thomas teased. Newt furrowed his eyebrows, pulling his hand up and looking at his short, clean nails. "Whatever you say." Newt sighed, flopping his head down on the sheets.

There was silence for a few minutes, Newt closing his eyes. "Hey no, let's do something. I actually like you but you're boring as fuck when you just lay in bed," Thomas said, standing up and reaching down to grip Newt's wrists. Newt's muscle twitched at the alarmingly cold temperature of Thomas's hands. "You're hands are cold." Newt said as he let Thomas drag h out of bed.

Thomas led him out of his room, down the stairs. Newt heard his parents talking in hushed tones in the living room but didn't bother to eavesdrop. Thomas let go of his wrist and motioned to the door at the bottom of the stairs. "Isn't that just a closet or something? Like Harry Potter?" Newt asked, knowing that they had a basement but not actually looking around for it. "What's Harry Potter? Never mind," Thomas asked, shaking his head as he opened the door.

It was dark. The only light was from the hallway and it gave downwards steps a soft silhouette. Newt's mouth gaped. "Whoa, this leads to the basement, right? Why are we going down here?" Newt asked. Thomas shrugged and motioned for Newt to enter. "Thought you might want to meet the other unlucky, lost souls?"

Newt was hesitant, nodding his head slowly with a deep swallow. He stopped in the dark room, Thomas close behind him. He reached for something to grab onto as he started stepping down the stairs with caution.

"Totally forgot that you can't see," Thomas snickered, pushing past Newt and grabbing his hand to lead him down faster. When they reached the bottom, Thomas let go of his hand and Newt secretly wished he'd hold it longer.

The basement light flickered on, but Thomas was still beside him and Newt damn sure didn't turn it on. The light was dying but it was enough to see more than silhouettes and actual objects instead. Newt looked around the small room, an openening in front of the stairs that led to a different room. Newt looked around, seeing the back door behind the stairs.

There was a loud crash, metal crashing against concrete. Newt flinched in shock. "What was that?" Newt mumbled, the thoughts of ghosts left his mind when Thomas grabbed his hand. He pinched his thigh instead of cursing. "Right, forgot." Newt whispered, ignoring Thomas's perpetual smirk.

"That's probably just Teresa trying to scare you. She's an ass," Thomas informed. A girl appeared in the entry way, long, dark hair and a white dress that flowed behind her. Her complexion was pale, her eyes a vibrant blue, she look almost intimidating but there was a soft smile on her pink lips.

"Am not," Teresa spoke, a faint accent. She sauntered around Thomas, smirk growing as she eyed Newt. "You got a pretty one, Tom," Teresa spoke, earning a deep blush from Thomas as Newt took a few seconds to process it before turning pink. "Shut up," Thomas muttered, pushing past Teresa to enter the other room. Teresa smirked at Newt, a mischievous glint in her blue eyes, and followed Thomas.

Newt followed too, not wanting to be alone especially when ghosts can just pop up as Teresa had. When he entered the other room, there were four doors, two on each side of the room. The room was grey, concrete floor and brick walls. One of the four doors was opened in the far left end and Newt assumed Thomas and Teresa went in there.

When Newt turned the corner of the door, he saw nothing but another stone room. Teresa was nowhere to be seen, probably transparent, Newt thought, but Thomas was facing the wall in the corner. Newt stepped in quietly, unsure what to do. Thomas probably sensed his presence because he shot around. His eyes were solid, as usual, and eyebrows furrowed.

"This is where I come a lot, where I stay most of the time. I used to stay in my, I mean your room, but you're here and I'm not ignorant or anything," Thomas said. Newt narrowed his eyes at him, suspiciously eyeing Thomas. The room had the power box, which made Newt a bit nervous. There was a faint cough, before an infant cries echoed through the basement.

Newt's eyes widened, looking at Thomas for some explanation. "Chuck," was all Thomas said as he pushed past Newt, who noticed how much taller Thomas was than him. Probably three inches. Newt was older but shorter. He can't deny that he's never found that attractive, for some unknown, weird reason.

Newt followed Thomas, who was entering th room across. When Newt arrived to the door, there was a small baby cot and Thomas rocking and coddling the baby. "Dammit, where are those nurses? I love Chuck, but he's not mine to look after," Thomas muttered, turning around to face Newt.

There was a bundle of blankets bundled in Thomas' arms, dark, curly hair poking out. Newt stepped closer until he was looming over the small baby. Newt slowly reached up to touch, to see if the baby was real, because it was a ghost after all, wasn't it?

The baby was so cold, much like Thomas. But it felt like a normal baby. "How?" Newt asked.

"I guess he wants to be seen by you," Thomas muttered, enjoying the fascination in Newt's eyes. "Will I be able to hold him, or will he turn back into a ghost when I have him, which will probably shock me and I'll drop him?" Newt asked, not processing what he said before the words tumbled out. Thomas laughed. "He won't turn invisible from you, if that's what you mean. Sure, you can hold him." Thomas joked.

Thomas slipped Chuck in Newt's arms, Newt's heart beating fast. "Bloody hell, I'm holding a ghost baby," Newt gasped. He eyed Chuck, who looked like an ordinary baby besides its ratty clothing behind the blankets. "This is so something I've never thought about my entire life." Newt whispered. Newt looked up to see Thomas admiring the sight in front of him. Newt was too overwhelmed to even notice.

A woman wearing pure white clothing appeared behind Newt, scaring him that he flinched and gripped the baby tighter to his chest. "Great, you're here, c'mon Newt, we can leave Chuck with nurse Matilda," Thomas said, ushering the brunette woman to take the baby from Newt's arms.

When Thomas and Newt got out of the basement, Newt started moaning. "What the hell, this is so weird, I got to be dreaming. What the hell?" Newt demanded, brushing his blonde hair off his forehead. Thomas chuckled. "Must be so strange for you, seeing a ghost baby and holding him while he's visible," Thomas mumbled. Newt elbowed Thomas playfully, making his way to the kitchen.

Newt assumed Thomas went transparent for his parents, because Mrs. Isaac didn't even look at Thomas. "Hey Newt," she greeted. "Dinner's almost ready, just a few more minutes," she said. Newt nodded, surpringly hungry. Thomas stayed silent, following behind Newt who led Thomas to the dining room. Newt sat down on one of the chairs, the one he propertied when they first had dinner together in the new house, which was fairly awkward.

Thomas sat beside him and held his hands together. "It's weird. I've never sat on a table in a long time, even when the houses were empty with no families. I have no use for them," Thomas spoke lightly, Newt thinking about if ghosts can eat. Probably not. Since they're dead. "I can eat food but there's just no reason to do so, I never get hungry or feel sick of malnutrition." Thomas finished, Newt slouching in defeat at his previous assumptions.

Mrs. Isaac started bringing the trays of food out, Newt avoiding eye contact with his mum because he was a bloody teenager who was moody a lot. Thomas reached out and rested his hand on Newt's thigh, shooting a cold explosion all over his leg. Newt looked up in shock, seeing Thomas giving him a look that screamed "be nice". When Mr. Isaac appeared, Thomas slipped his hand away even though he couldn't be seen, blushing a faint pink along with Newt.

"Hi there, Newt. Haven't seen you properly since we've moved in!" Mr. Isaac spoke, sounding perplexed. Newt nodded awkwardly as his mum passed him a plate. He wasn't hungry, hasn't been for a while. But he didn't want his mum or dad to fuss more about him, so he portioned his food to smaller amounts. Newt forgot that Thomas was there for a while, and when Thomas touched his bicep, he flinched at the icy cold temperature and dropped his fork on his plate with a loud clatter.

Mrs. Isaac flinched as Mr. Isaac gave him a stern look. Newt hung his head, stifling a laugh. "Actually, can I be excused?" Newt asked after e consoled himself. His mum looked shocked. "Oh, um, sure. I'll just leave your plate in the microwave." Newt nodded, tossing a cloth on the table as he stood up.

Newt rushed to the stairs, abandoning his parents. He climbed up the stairs by two, walking down the hallway until he got to his room. When he opened his door, Thomas was sitting on the bed.

"How? You were just downstairs?" Newt gaped, closing his door and walking to the bed. "I don't know, I just came here," Thomas shrugged. Newt sat on the edge where his nightstand was, opening the top drawer. He pulled out a notepad and a purple pen.

Closing the drawer and flopping himself on his stomach on the bed, Newt opened the notepad. There were various pages used, most of the writing sloppy and in multicoloured pen for every page. "What's that?" Thomas asked, squirming on the bed so that he was resting on his stomach beside Newt.

"It's my reporter pad. I've had it since I was twelve," Was all Newt replied, finding a fresh, clear page. His last report was two months ago, when he first saw a shooting star. He written how calm it made him feel, how everything negative numbed inside of him. Even though the star was dead, it seemed to give Newt life.

Newt jotted the date, March 9, 2009, on the corner of the paper.

'I met a ghost a few days ago and he's laying beside me' Newt scribbled, earning a chuckle from Thomas. "So it's like a diary?" Thomas asked. Newt nodded shamelessly and continued writing.

'He's very nice. He was creepy the first days I have seen him, but now I'm warming up to Thomas - which is his name.'

Newt capped his pen and flipped his notebook closed. "Wait, that's all?" Thomas asked. Newt, again, nodded. "I always write under ten sentences," Newt replied, turning his head to face Thomas and rested his cheek on his palm.

Thomas was quiet, his straight eyebrows narrowed so there was a little crease between his eyes. "One day, I'm going to make you write more than ten sentences about me. You'll probably write a whole novel, just about me," Thomas said, a small glint in his usual dull, brown eyes. Newt gaped at him, his own eyes widening. "Wha-?" Before Newt can say anything, Thomas leaned forward and placed a kiss on Newt's open mouth.

Thomas's lips were warm, unlike his cold skin, which was odd. Newt felt his eyes slip closed, their lips not moving but just pressed against each other. Newt felt his palms become sweaty. He pressed harder against Thomas.

It must've gave Thomas confidence, Newt pushing against his mouth, because Thomas began to properly kiss him. Newt felt tingly, reaching a sweaty palm to softly trace his fingers on Thomas's jaw, skin cold. Thomas parted, a small space between his and Newt's mouth.

"Okay?" Thomas asked, his voice laced with something Newt never heard. Insecurity, uncertainty. Newt nodded, it was. He liked Thomas and that was nice, Thomas's lips were soft and warm and Newt never kissed anyone. Thomas smiled and leaned in again, closing the small gap.

Thomas gained control and Newt let him. He let Thomas lay him on the bed and loom over him, kissing him softly but eagerly. Newt's fingers nipped at the short hair on Thomas's neck and Thomas's hand rested on Newt's hip.

There was a loud knock on the door that scared the two boys apart. Newt fell back on the bed, blushing furiously as his dad came in. Newt assumed his dad couldn't see Thomas because he didn't look in Thomas's direction.

"I just came up here to say goodnight," Mr. Isaac said, standing awkwardly at the door, wearing plaid pyjama pants and a grey t shirt. "Yeah, well, goodnight dad," Newt said, pushing his face in his mattress. "And also to ask a few questions, if that's okay?" Mr. Isaac had a desperate expression, Newt feeling guilty.

"I'm actually pretty tired, so can you do that another day?" Newt asked, writhing on his bed to lay properly on his pillows. Thomas stayed where he was, laying on his side with his head resting on his palm, looking in Mr. Isaac's direction. Newt noticed the small curve of Thomas's waist to his hips. He shivered. "Oh, no, yeah, it's pretty late anyway... Goodnight, Newt," Mr. Isaac frowned, slinging out of the room, gently shutting the door behind him.

Newt exhaled, sinking down into his bed and pulling the teal blanket over his head. Thomas was laying beside him in an instant, also under the blanket.

"I hate acting like I hate my parents," Newt mumbled, closing his eyes. He was tired. Thomas pulled the boy close to his chest, quite awkwardly. "Then don't," was all Thomas replied with. Newt's head rested on top of Thomas's shoulder, breathing heavily as it began feeling stuffy under the blanket. 

Throwing the blanket off of their heads, Newt crawled up to flick the lamp off before laying down on his bed, respective amount of space between him and Thomas. He doesn't care if Thomas stays or not, but he also wants his to not leave tonight.

~~~

Newt has trouble falling asleep. Thomas is always with him now, but they never kissed since their first kiss four days prior. Thomas always let's Newt cuddle up against him, thinking Newt's asleep when Newt is just laying there, eyes closed but thoughts twisting and roaming his mind. His mind boggling with his parents, Gally the potatoe face, school, and Thomas.

His parents talked about him, he's heard it. How he rarely leaves his room, only to go to school and use the washroom. They think he has a mental disorder; depression, bulimia, anorexia. He doesn't. He's just sad, his thoughts are cloudy and he feels like everything is pointless most of the time. Newt also isn't hungry most of the time. His stomach doesn't growl, it feels empty most of the time but it doesn't bother him.

Why did they have to move to a new different country? Europe made him happy, he actually had friends there.

Newt sort of hates and is thankful his mum decided to let dad move them here, hates it because he loathes his dad's stupid decision and how he can control Newt's mum easily, and thankful only because he met Thomas.

Thomas makes him both happy and sad.

Thomas makes him happy because he's the first person (ghost) that Newt befriended and he's always around to make sure Newt's okay. Thomas makes Newt sad because he's not real; just an apparition; a lost soul; a stupid ghost.

When Newt sees his alarm clock at the corner of his eye, it's 2:34am. Thomas is sleeping (!!!) and Newt finally falls into a light sleep.

 

Newt recalls his mum coming in a few hours later after he fell asleep, informing him that school was cancelled because a pipe broke or something similar. Newt was thankful because he really didn't want to go to school anyways.

Newt woke up after noon, he knew because Thomas said it was past 12. He was groggy and tired for a few minutes, deciding that he's had enough of his morning breath.

He got up off of the bed, ignoring Thomas's questions of "where are you going?", and went out into the hall. The house smelt of bacon, which was odd because it was noon and bacon wasn't really a lunch snack. Unless it was BLTs, then yes.

Newt went to the bathroom two doors beside his room. He quietly shut the door behind him, the light flickering myriad times. He picked up his lime green toothbrush from the rack and began brushing his teeth and doing his business. After Newt was done washing his hands, he gripped the edge of the basin sink, shoulders hunched.

His mind began racing again, why was he so moody? Before he could calm himself, he began rummaging through the mirror cabinet.

He swore to himself we wouldn't do that again, after being two years clean. But things were stressing him out hard, he needed some sort of release.

He rummaged through each shelf, finding nothing but a pair of small scissors. He tested the blade of the silver scissors, making a small, clean cut on his finger. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt that he wore to bed, thankful for choosing appropriate clothing to shield what he was about to do to anyone who comes his way.

There were faint, white lines risen from his pale wrist. They were ugly, but they made him feel better. There were only seven of them, but there were more on his thighs after his dad saw the ones on his wrists.

Newt pressed the scissors to his wrist, above a healed cut. The put pressure and dragged it across his wrist, hissing in pain. Crimson blood dripped at a fast pace, rolling off his pale skin in beads and dropping on the porcelain sink. He watched in fascination, forgetting how drops of blood slipping off his skin looked.

Newt pressed the scissors again, putting more pressure and only dragging it just as far as the previous one when a voice scared him.

"Cut vertically," Newt looked up in the mirror to see Thomas standing at the closed doorway, an unfathomable expression on his face. Newt's mouth gaped. "What?" He asked. Thomas motioned to the scissors inches away from Newt's wrist. "Cut vertically. You wanna die, don't you? Cut vertically, the bleeding won't stop if you cut along the vein." Thomas explained.

Newt stood still, eyes trained on Thomas'. He instantly regretted the thought of doing this. The light flickered and in an instant, Thomas was gone, leaving Newt to his own thoughts and more self-hatred.

~~~

Newt hasn't seen Thomas all day, and he went to bed alone for the first time in nearly a week. He couldn't sleep, his wrist bled through three bandages during the whole day. He wondered if Thomas hated him, or was now repulsed by him.

The alarm clock flickered to a new hour: 4:00am. Newt closed his eyes, rolling onto his side. He had to wake up for school in three hours. Great.

Newt kept his eyes closed for what felt approximately ten minutes but was awaken to his mum shaking his shoulders, the orange sun shining through his curtains. Newt knew he must've looked horrible, his mum kept giving him worrying, pitiful glances.

"Are you sure you're well enough? You look sick," Mrs. Isaac said for the umpteenth time. Newt rolled his eyes, tugging the denim fabric on his leg. "I'm fine, just couldn't sleep. I'll make it through the day," Newt mumbled, buttoning up his jeans. Mrs. Isaac narrowed her curved eyebrows at him, seeing through his little white lie.

"You're obviously not, and if you want to stay home today you're more then welcome to. I won't stop you from going," she said, walking out of his room. Newt groaned, daring himself to strip off his uncomfortable clothes and stay in bed all day. But he found himself walking to school ten minutes later, the March sun blazing down on his warm skin.

His satchel that he used to carry his binder in kept falling off his shoulder, so slung it over his head, his neck preventing it from sliding off. He was hungry. He hasn't eaten properly in three days. He had about three dollars in his pocket and he was arriving closer to a small coffee shop.

Newt dug around in the pocket of his bag, just in case his money was still there. When his fingers bushed against cold metal, he made an abrupt turn to enter the coffee shop he was close to walking by.

The coffee shop was in warm colours; beige walls and maroon seats for the tables. Maroon was the only color that wasn't any sort of brown (Newt knew that maroon is in the brown family but it wasn't as brown as actual browns). There were only six people in total, a couple sitting at the far corner, an elderly woman sipping coffee casually, and another guy whose back was facing the entrance, plus the two workers. There was still half an hour left until class started, Newt saw on the shop clock.

Newt went to the counter, the girl at the cashier minded her own business as Newt looked at the menu on the top of the door in front of him that Newt assume led to a kitchen of some sort.

"Um," Newt muttered to get the girl's attention. The girl with dark skin and very curly hair looked at him and grinned. "What can I get for you?" She asked, voice chirpy.

"Just a blueberry muffin's fine," Newt said. The girl nodded with a smile, hitting numbers on the cash register before it popped open. The muffin was fifty cents and Newt gave her a dollar, receiving two quarters back. The girl the squatted, opening the glass shelf that was used for the counter and pulled out a muffin.

"Here ya go," she said, wrapping the muffin in a paper bag. Newt thanked her before wondering if he should eat it on his way to school or sit down. Newt felt himself stalking out of the shop, clutching the bag to his chest.

He arrived to history ten minutes late.

~~~

Gym was right after lunch, but Newt didn't want to buy anything in the cafeteria, so he went to the library and sat alone at one of the long tables and waited for the hour of lunch to pass.

When Newt got to the gymnasium, he went to his usual spot on the bleachers, four seats down from the girl with the cannulas. As the class started filling up, an Asian boy with crutches hobbled in. Newt thinks his name is Minho, he doesn't know, he doesn't have other classes with him. There's a shorter black kid helping him walk, sort of, they're messing around and the Asian boy tumbles a bit as the black kid pushes him - a sign that he should walk faster.

Newt noticed they were coming to the bleachers.

"-having a broken leg, Jeff, then you'll see how I feel," was all Newt heard when they got closer. The black kid, Jeff, Newt assumed, rolled his almost-black eyes. "Unlike you, I don't run track," Jeff said, pushing Minho down on the first row bleacher, just two seats down from Newt.

Newt was looking at his lap, trying not to stare and make himself and whoever he finds himself staring at uncomfortable, but he was listening. "I know, and it's because you're a lazy shit." Minho giggled, receiving a push at the head from Jeff as he walked to the group of students.

Newt looked up to scan who was here, his eyes immediately stopping on Gally's back. He hoped Gally wouldn't acknowledged him today, he just wanted to get the day over with so he can go home and lay in bed all weekend.

"I broke my leg three days ago," Newt heard a voice say. He saw it was Minho trying to talk to him. "And I was restless during the nights because it kept hurting," Minho said, tossing his casted leg on the bleacher beside him, which made him turn his whole body. Newt sighed. "Night's are the worst," He mumbled, mostly to himself, but was surprised when Minho heard it. "Tell me about it."

Neither Newt nor Minho said anything else. The class begun and there was no Mr. Janson, instead a small substitute teacher whose voice was loud and reached to the bleachers. "We're playing dodgeball, because I want to and lacross is boring! Split into two teams and go on opposite sides of the room!"

Minho snorted. "God, I hate dodgeball,"  
Newt had to agree because he wasn't the greatest player and often got nailed in the face back in England.

Another silence came over the bleachers, Newt swore he could hear the humming of the girl's cannulas releasing oxygen in her body, the grunts of the fattest guy's breaths. It agitated him.

"Oh, by the way, for nights, I take pills to help me sleep," Minho informed, picking at his white cast. "Works most of the time,"  
Net furrowed his eyebrows, and before he could stop himself, words fell from his mouth. "What kind of pills?"

Minho dug through his school bag that was on the floor, pulling out an orange container. "Sleeping pills," he said.  
Newt felt a small wave of euphoria explode in him. "Can I have some?" He asked, knowing very well that he needed sleep. Minho leaned over the first bleacher in front of him, his arm only reaching the second one. "Take it. I have another case at home." Minho insisted. Newt took the warm container, clutching it in his shaky hands.

Gally nailed his face with a dodgeball before class ended.

~~~

When Newt got home, there was a small bruise forming on the side of his face, below his eye and on his cheek. His parents weren't home again, so Newt went to the kitchen. He opened the freezer, seeing frozen peas at the back of the freezer. He pulled the bag out, his cheek throbbing just at the sight of the cold bag.

He tossed the bag on the marble-top island, slumping himself on one of the stools and leaned over, resting his bruised cheek on the bag of frozen peas.

Newt stayed like that for a few minutes, the bag began to defrost and drip, getting his cheek damp. He pushed himself up, about to go get another when when a voice stopped him.

"What happened?"

It didn't sound like neither of his parents or even Thomas. Newt spun around on the stool, stepping off as he came eye level to eye level with a boy. The boy had really dark skin and looked older than both himself and Thomas. The dark boy wore a white shirt, similar to Thomas's with the v neck, and greyish-black trousers. He couldn't be Doctor Nicholas, Newt knew he was Caucasian. Alby.

Knowing Alby was harmless (probably, but Newt slid closer to the knife rack just in case), Newt replied. "This kid at school, in gym class. Hit me with a dodgeball," Newt shrugged. Alby stepped forward, dark eyes trained on Newt's own. "I hate jerks at school. I don't know, graduated school seven years ago, died four." Alby said, his tone casual as if he said that everyday.

Alby was only dead for four years?

"Tell me about it," Said Alby after a few moments of silence. The boy moved closer until he took a seat on the stool beside the one Newt previously sat in. "About the kid who gave you that." Newt furrowed his eyebrows, eyeing the boy up and down, before sliding over and sit down beside him. The kitchen light flickered, but regained its normal brightness.

"Well, his name's Gally... He has a really big nose, and he's only in my gym class," Newt began, awkwardly rubbing his forearm under the table. "But he's a bloody asshole. Teases me because I don't participate in gym. It's like he thinks I need more stress in my life," Newt sighed, hunching over the island and resting his forehead on the marble. "Why are you stressed?" Alby asked. Newt began wondering if Alby was a shrink before he died.

"I don't know. The move sort of messed up my sleeping schedule, it's my dad's fault though, because he was the one who decided to move to a different country to try and repair our already shitty, broken family... It gives me a headache just thinking about it." Newt wrapped his arms around him, hands hooked on his bony shoulders, almost like he was giving himself a hug.

"I feel that you're despressed," Alby said. Newt instantly got frustrated and angry, he shot up in a proper sitting position. "I'm not depressed!" Newt shouted, eyes flaring with anger. Alby didn't seem bothered by Newt's outburst. "Just mildly, Newt. But you are in fact depressed. I can see it in your eyes."

Newt stood up from the stool, highly annoyed and angry. "I'm not! I'm just angry about everything that's going on! Besides, how would you even know?" Newt screamed before he could stop himself. He felt angry tears prick his eyes but he sucked it in. Alby didn't respond for a few minutes.

"Because I was too, Newt. I didn't want to be, but I was utterly despressed."

~~~

Slamming the door behind him, Newt ripped his satchel off his shoulders and threw it to the ground in pure anger. He just wanted to scream. Not scream in words, but to just scream and let everything out. He tried his best to keep himself composed, but anger leaked out and it made him knock his stupid iHome on the floor. It landed with a loud thump, buttons and chipped off pieces flying in every direction.

Alby was being stupid! He's just a bloody ghost. He couldn't tell Newt what, who he was!

The tears Newt pushed back from downstairs threatened to spill. Newt just wanted everything to stop, just to stop and give him a few minutes to catch his breath. Newt picked up a stuffed animal on the floor beside his desk, throwing it was all force he could muster before crumpling on the floor beside his bed.

Tears leaked from his eyes, his body shaking in sobs that wanted to escape his body. His bruised cheek throbbed. What was wrong with him?

A cold hand touched his back but Newt didn't have enough strength to look up and see who that was. It had to be a ghost, who else would have such freezing hands? Newt saw knees clad in black between the gap between his arm that was holding his head down.

Newt's tears stopped but his body was still shaking as he breathed heavily. Thomas, Newt assumed, began helping him stand up. Newt felt dizzy as he got to his feet, he let Thomas lead him to his bed. Thomas seemed sad, eyebrows furrowed and expression tight. He helped Newt crawl into bed, throwing the blanket over the small boy and tucked him in.

Newt laid on his side, back facing Thomas as he rubbed his non-bruised cheek on the pillows. Thomas walked around to the other side - his side of the bed - and crawled under the covers with Newt, who had his red-rimmed eyes closed. Thomas got closer, wrapping his arms around Newt's small body, pulling the boy closer to him.

The green bruise on Newt's soft, pale skin on his face taunted Thomas, but he just closed his own eyes and secretly wished he could make Newt happy again.

~~~

The weekend passed by in a hazy blur, Newt stayed in bed most of the time, his mum coming in around dinner to give him a plate of food that he left half-eaten. He knew his mum was worried about him. Thomas stayed with him most of the time, they often cuddled in bed for hours, once playing a game of cards on the floor. Newt still couldn't sleep properly, in fact, it got worse.

He stayed conscious until probably 5am, then he'd finally drift lightly into sleep for just a few hours. He'd act like he was sleeping for Thomas, have his eyes closed from midnight until he actually fell asleep five hours later. 

Thomas didn't sleep, it's not like he really needed it anyway. He stayed awake just in case Newt needed him, but it was rare.

It was Sunday and Newt decided he was not going to school anymore. He's only attended two and a half weeks worth of school but he doesn't want to go anymore. He doesn't know what his parents will say about this so he's planning to not tell them until they eventually find out.

Newt and Thomas were on the floor, playing another game of Go Fish. The sun was just setting, turning the sky a beautiful orange and pink color, from what Newt can see from his window with the ajar curtain.

He returns his attention to his cards. Two queens, two sevens, one four. He needs a ten. The spades seem like they're third dimensional and slapping Newt in his face.

"Do you have a six?" Thomas asks after rummaging through his cards. "Go fish," Newt replies, watching Thomas groan and pick up another card and putting it in his collection of approximately eight cards. "Do you have a ten?" Newt asks. Thomas narrows his eyes at Newt before hastily pulling a card out of his collection and handing it to Newt.

The two began playing absent-mindingly as conversation flows through each other.

"How are you feeling?" Thomas asks, picking up another card. Newt shrugs. "I don't know, I could feel better," is all Newt says, chewing his lips as he puts two cards down and picks up another one. "I want to make you happy," Thomas said, voice low. The lamp flickered as Newt drew his eyes up to Thomas, who was staring right at him. "Y-you do," Newt whispered, eyes never leaving Thomas's.

Thomas slapped the cards down in the pile, crawling over the Newt who was taken aback by Thomas's quick movements. Before Newt could protest about their game ruined, Thomas silenced him with his mouth. Newt immediately dropped his cards, hands wrapping around Thomas's neck as Thomas pushed against him, their chests touching and their lips moving in sync. Newt whimpered in the kiss, feeling euphoria wash all over him.

Thomas did make him happy.

Newt moaned when Thomas's lips attached to his neck so suddenly, warm lips nibbling and sucking at his sensitive skin. Thomas's cold hands rested on both his exposed hip and the back of his neck, his fingers tugging lightly at Newt's growing hair. Newt tugged Thomas closer, feeling himself get excited.

"I, oh, I want you," Newt felt himself stutter, blushing furiously and feeling hot. Thomas pulled back, eyes close to Newt's own. Thomas's eyes were a lot darker than Newt's and there was a hopeful glint in his eyes, but his expression was serious. "Are you sure?" Thomas asked, vice stern. Newt thought for a few hazy seconds. Did he really want this? He'd be darned if he didn't. Newt nodded, biting his bottom lip nervously.

"I need to hear you, Newt," Thomas said huskily. Newt bit down on his lip hard, Thomas's fingers on his hip tracing the outline of his prominent hip bones. "Oh god, yes, yes. Please," Newt muttered.

Thomas grinned and stood up rather wobbly, pulling Newt up and led him to the messy bed. Thomas let go of Newt's hand, who then crawled on the bed and laid down in the middle. Thomas crawled on the bed until his body was on top of Newt's, shielding him from everything else.

Thomas leaned down and gave him a peck before reaching for the hem of Newt's red shirt. Newt helped Thomas take it off, exposing his torso. Thomas nearly gasped at the sight. Newt's ribs were more prominent than ever.

"Stop looking. Please," Newt begged, hands reaching up to cup Thomas's face and kissing him again. When they pulled away, Thomas pecked his forehead. "You're beautiful, you know," Thomas mumbled against Newt's forehead, sincerity laced his tone. Newt blushed, "Okay." He said, not quite believing himself.

Newt tugged at Thomas's shirt, a signal that he wanted it off. Thomas complied, crumpling up his blue shirt and throwing it on the floor. Newt's hands ghosted over Thomas's chest, feeling the smooth skin, the risen scars on his pecs that were once eight bullet holes reminded Newt that Thomas was a ghost. Dead. No blood rushing through his veins, heart still in his chest. Newt didn't care; Thomas was real and solid and on top of him and oh god.

Newt tugged his pyjama shorts off, Thomas helping and taking his underwear with him. Newt shivered at the new sensation of cold air around his most private bits. Thomas threw the clothing on the floor, turning his attention on Newt's exposed body, his attention on Newt's hard dick. Newt was biting his lip nervously, shifting his thighs to widen them as much as Thomas's legs trapping his bottom would let him. Thomas reached down to grip Newt's pink flesh, earning a small whimper from Newt.

"Oh, come on, your turn," Newt whined, tugging at Thomas's pants. Thomas flicked his wrist, making Newt groan and writhe. Thomas chuckled, letting go of Newt and taking off the rest of his clothes. Thomas was bigger than Newt, thicker too. Newt shivered. Thomas sat back on his ankles, pulling Newt's legs up and pushing them back until his knees were against his chest. Newt was blushing furiously as his hole was clearly exposed, reaching to hold the back of his knees so Thomas could use both hands to do what he needed to do.

Thomas smiled at Newt, letting go of his knees but trailing his hand up and down Newt's thigh. "Do it," Newt teased, watching Thomas between his knees. Thomas gave Newt a pat on the thigh before spitting on the tip of two fingers. Newt should have been repulsed, but it actually look sort of hot. Thomas circled Newt's rim, causing Newt to whine uncomfortably, hips bucking.

Thomas smirked, circling the pink hole and slicking it up before pushing in the tip of his finger in the tightness, Newt groaning at the intrusion. Thomas thrusted his finger seven times, curling and rubbing Newt's walls, Newt breathing heavily and gripping the back if knees tighter, before adding another one. Newt's eyebrows were furrowed, face distorted in discomfort.

Thomas expected Newt to be uncomfortable since it was Thomas's first time touching a boy; he had no idea when he was doing but assumed he was supposed to do this before sticking his dick in. 

Three fingers, a lot of spit, Newt groaning, and Thomas's wrist aching later, Thomas thinks Newt is ready. Pulling out his fingers, Newt whines.

Thomas always thinks Newt looks beautiful, but there's something about the way Newt is bent and opened, whining when Thomas pulled his fingers out of his ass, that makes Thomas think that he's even more beautiful.

Newt lets go of his knees, letting them fall until the soles of his feet were against the mattress, hands sweaty as Thomas moves closer. Thomas spits on his palm, reaching down to touch himself, slick himself up. Newt looking up at him with glassy eyes and bitten-red lips, blonde hair splayed on the teal pillow case.

When Thomas comes closer, Newt feels the tip of his dick rub against his hole and he clenches in shock. "Shh, calm down, Newt, relax," Thomas mutters, leaning over Newt, hand on the side of Newt's head, bracing himself up, to rub his nose against Newt's neck in attempt to relax him. Newt takes a deep breath and eventually relaxes.

Thomas waits a few seconds after Newt relaxed before pushing in. Newt moans in pain, his nails digging in Thomas's biceps. Thomas focuses on pushing inside of Newt, licking a stripe on Newt's neck. Newt is writhing almost uncontrollably, breaths uneven. Thomas used the hand from lining himself up to slither up to Newt's dick, wrapping his fingers around the small, hard flesh. Newt bucked his hips forward, a small moan escaping his lips.

Thomas tugged up and down as he was finally all the way inside Newt. Newt wrapped his legs around Thomas's waist, breathing evenly. Thomas's mouth found Newt's, Newt giggling after Thomas pecked his lips.

Their eyes connected, both glassy and full of something neither of them have seen. Newt smiled, tightening his legs around Thomas's waist. "You make me so happy." Newt whispered, leaning up to kiss Thomas passionately. As cliche as Newt would like to admit, he felt tingles erupt in the pit of his stomach.

When they pulled apart, Newt gave Thomas a curt nod. Thomas slowly pulled out, Newt clenching his teeth, before pushing back in slowly. Newt let out a breathy moan. Thomas repeated his actions, relishing the soft moans and whimpers and whines that escaped from Newt.

"Yeah," Newt stuttered out brokenly, "like that. Harder," Newt begged, hands sliding from Thomas's tensing biceps to the ends of his dark hair, tugging and pulling at the tips. Thomas complied, pressing harder, trusting harder, Newt moaning much louder. Thomas snaked his arm under one of Newt's legs, elevating Newt higher.

"Oh my god," Newt gasped, eyes snapping shut in ecstasy, arching his back, the new angle making Thomas hit something inside of him that made his explode with pleasure. Sweat began to form on Newt's forehead, beads dripping down into his blonde hair. Thomas grinned, leaning down to attack Newt's mouth as he thrusted quickly in the spot that made Newt see stars.

Newt released first, untouched, his come coming out in strong squirts on his stomach, pooling in his belly button. Newt breathed heavily, clenching around Thomas through his breathtaking orgasm.

"Come on, Tommy," Newt breathed, rubbing Thomas's arm soothingly. "You can do it." Newt coaxed, mostly because he was beginning to feel sensitive. Thomas groaned, burying his head in Newt's neck as he came, deep inside of Newt. Newt shivered at the odd sensation, goosebumps appearing on his skin.

Newt was licking at Thomas's sweaty neck, exhausted and very, very happy. Thomas sighed happily, slowly pulling out of Newt, who whined in sensitivity. Newt cupped Thomas's face, making Thomas look at Newt. Newt's eyes were blessed out, so was his soft smile.

"Thank you," Newt muttered, kissing Thomas for a brief second. "I like you a lot," Newt mumbled against Thomas's mouth. Thomas grinned. "I like you a lot, too."

Newt felt his stomach swell, which reminded him of the drying stickiness. Before he could get up, though, Thomas quickly jumped off the bed and picked up a discarded shirt and returned to Newt's side. Newt watched was Thomas wiped up the white mess until it was all off but Newt still felt sticky but was too tired to want to shower. Thomas pulled the teal covers over their bodies, wrapping an arm around Newt's thin frame.

Thomas's thumb rubbed up and down on Newt's prominent ribs, kissing his bony shoulder.

"I'll help fix you." Was the last thing Newt heard before he fell asleep.

~~~

Mrs. Isaac shook Newt's bare shoulders, a little less worry in her eyes. Newt blinked, eyes burning but mind clear. How many hours did he sleep?

"Morning, Newt. School today," Newt's mum announced before leaving his room. Newt rolled over, remembering that he swore he wasn't going to school anymore. Thomas was asleep beside him, both hands tucked under his head, mouth ajar and little breaths escaping. Newt wondered if ghosts got morning breath. He giggled, closing his eyes and falling into a light sleep.

Newt woke up a few hours later, his alarm clock gleaming in red acid 10:34. He was still naked from last night's actions, which made him blush furiously as he tugged on the blanket to cover himself as he looked for his underwear on the floor. He found it on Thomas's side, which made him feel hot and tingly.

Newt slipped on his underwear, scratching his belly absentminded as he walked out of his room, leaving a sleeping Thomas behind, and to the washroom. After he did his business, he switched on the shower, rubbing his forearm as he waited for the spraying water to warm up. When it was at a warm temperature, Newt took of his minimal clothing and hopped in the shower.

Newt sighed, relaxing as warm water pelted his back. He couldn't believe he and Thomas did it. What the hell? Newt couldn't keep himself from grinning as he shampooed his hair. He used his mum's raspberry body wash, washing away the stiffness on his stomach, which made his ears turn pink.

Newt turned off the water after it began turning cold, getting out of the shower. Newt grabbed a towel from the towel drawer under the sink, drying himself before wrapping it around his stomach.

Newt opened the bathroom door, walking out and closing it behind him then began walking to his room. When Newt got to his room, Thomas was awake and fully dressed, looking out of the window.

"Hey," Newt said, slightly curious as he went to his closet. He picked out black jeans and a red jumper, the red jumper still fitting him after nine years. It was sort of embarrassing that it meant he never grown in any way since he was eight, or maybe his nan just got a way too big size. Newt took the latter.

"Let's go eat breakfast," Thomas suggested. Newt slipped on underwear under the towel, shaking his head. "I'm not hungry," Newt mumbled, dropping the towel and picking up his black jeans. Thomas turned around and walked over to Newt, Newt seeing the small frustration in Thomas's expression.

Thomas pinned Newt to the wall, their foreheads touching. Newt gasped suddenly, feeling odd since he was barely covered and Thomas was showing just a little bit skin. "No, we're having a breakfast buffeted. As a matter of fact, I'll go start it right now as you get dressed," Thomas said, kissing Newt softly before walking out of the room and down the stairs.

Newt felt warm, his cheeks pure red as he put on his jeans and red jumper. Once he was dressed, he put on a pair of white socks and made his way downstairs. By the time Newt stepped on the main floor, he smelt bacon in the air, the sizzling proving his sense.

He walked into the kitchen quietly, sighting Thomas flipping golden strips of bacon on the frying pan while another pan slowly cooked hash browns.

"I don't know what you like, so I grabbed what I saw," Thomas said, his attention going on the other pan and stirring the brown squares. Newt was flattered, the whole situation making his heart swell.

Newt moved to sit on the island, elbows resting on the surface and chin resting on his palms. "You're so sweet," Newt commented, giggling when Thomas peeked at him from the corner of his eye. Newt watched Thomas cook, enjoying the sight.

 

Thomas made two plates, each one had an equal portion of food of bacon, hash browns, fried eggs, and toast on the side. To top it off, Thomas also brought orange juice in wine glasses. Newt chuckled sheepishly when he was led to the dining room. There was a single white candle in the middle of the two plates across each other.

"You really went far out. Cereal would've sufficed," Newt joked, earning a playful glare from Thomas. "I would not, besides, I wanted to do this. You deserve more, though," Thomas said, helping Newt sit down on a chair a scoot in. Thomas rushed to the other side, sitting down and scooting over. Newt blushed at Thomas's words.

Thomas smiled at him from on top if the candle, the flame defining his sharp features with shadows. Newt felt clammy under his stare. Thomas then reached for his wine glass of orange juice, raising it up as if he was giving a toast. Newt subconsciously copied.

"To breakfast at lunch; brunch! To us," Thomas grinned sheepishly. Newt smiled. "To us." He finished, unable to contain his stomach's myriad butterflies as he sipped the sweet orange juice.

 

Before it was five in the evening, Newt and Thomas went downstairs. After breakfast, they spent the past couple of hours in the living room watching Jersey Shore on the couch, Newt practically being held by Thomas. He's gotten use to laying on Thomas with his full weight, often feeling self-conscious if he was hurting Thomas with his weight. But Thomas assured him that he wasn't multiple times and Newt finally believed him after the third episode.

Newt's parents would be home soon, they always came home before six (Newt's mum found a job at a middle school downtown and took the city bus, Newt's dad worked as a high school that thankfully wasn't Newt's), and they didn't know that Newt decided he wasn't going back to school.

Thomas led him to the basement, turning on the dim, flickering light when they reached the hard cement floor. The basement seemed more dreary since Newt last came in here, the brick walls seemed damp and one of the lights burnt completely out.

Thomas gave Newt a grin that wavered before taking his hand. In an instant, a figure appeared from the entrance that led to the other rooms. Newt flinched in shock, quickly composing himself when he saw that it was only Alby. Alby's face held no recognition, his eyes blocked up with something that was near the brink of insanity.

"Thomas, I don't want to be here anymore!" Alby shouted, his words coming out between gritted teeth and spit. Thomas stood, completely shocked before taking it in and coming to his senses. "What do you mean, Alby?" Thomas asked, which only seemed to infuriate Alby.

"I... DON'T... WANT... TO... BE... HERE." Alby screamed before breaking into horrible sobs that echoed off the brick walls. Newt could feel the pain and confusion in Alby's words, each word tugging at his heart as he stood back, unsure how to help console him.

Thomas was instantly by his side when Alby collapsed, curling around him and patting his back, hunching over to try to talk to him. It reminded Newt of that time when Thomas helped him when he was down.

"We don't belong here, we're not supposed to be here! We're supposed to be in the afterlife, Thomas!" Alby howled, punching the side of his fist on the ground. Thomas kept muttering things to Alby, things that Newt couldn't make out. The lights above flickered violently and a huge gust of wind came from behind Newt. The wind swept past the two boys on the floor, catching their attention.

Newt turned around, seeing a silhouette lurking in the shadows. Terrified, Newt backed up until he stood beside Thomas. The shadow began walking forward, Alby's sobs subsiding as he looked up to see the creature walking towards them.

Newt felt shaky, his spine tingling. He felt Thomas's hand graze his own, and Newt gripped it, helping the boy into a standing position, leaving Alby still seated on the floor. Once the lights stopped flickering and the creature came out of it's hiding spot, the light exposed it.

It was a woman with pale skin and light hair hidden by a black hat with a transparent net covering the left side of her face, her lips a vibrant red color. The woman wore all black; a black blazer with a white dress shirt, a black pencil skirt, and shiny black loafers. The woman smiled at the trio.

"Hi," She said, her voice raspy. "I'm Ava Paige, but people know me more as Death." Thomas furrowed his eyebrows as Newt shivered and coward into Thomas's side. Alby had his dark eyes trained on her when she mentioned death.

"I appear when someone, either a lost soul or human, is mourning and begging for death. Sad people. People who wished they were never born or left as a ghost. I hear your first cries, but if you are really struggling then I appear. All you have to do is hold my hand and I will lead you to the Other Side; Paradise as most people call it," Ava Paige said, her voice professional. Thomas shook his head. "No, we don't need you." He said, looking down at Alby with a pleading look in his brown eyes.

Alby's gaze was transfixed on the woman, slowly standing up. Thomas helping him, pulling Alby towards him and away from the woman nicknamed Death. Alby pulled away, not sparing Thomas one last look as he tottered towards Death.

When he stood mere inches away, Newt having to strain Thomas back ("This is his decision, Tommy," Newt said, pulling Thomas back and holding him still by wrapping his arms around him.), his glassy eyes looked up into the sharp, blue pair of the woman's.

"Take me to Paradise," Alby whispered. The woman smiled, giving one last glance at Thomas and Newt, before intertwining hers and Alby's fingers. Thomas growled, "Please, Alby, no."

Ava Paige turned around, leading Alby to a sudden white gleam that appeared. A gust if wind blew Newt's hair around, and in a blink, the white light disappeared, leaving nothing but grey brick walls.

"That was so painful to watch, man," Teresa spoke, pulling Thomas out of his transfixed gaze on the bricks. Newt turned around to face Teresa, completely baffled and anxious. Teresa stood at the entry, leaning on the frame, her arms crossed as a frown was settled upon her lips. "But it's best for him... Right, Tom? Alby was always depressed, it's no complete shock that he thought about actual death." Teresa spoked, her voice low, almost soothing.

Thomas nodded, rubbing his face with his hands. "Yeah, I guess," He said, turning around and locking his and Newt's fingers together. Teresa cooed. "Wow guys, this is new!" She smiled, trying to break through the tension. Thomas smirked, Newt flushed, tightening his fingers around Thomas's.

"We've been dating for almost two weeks," Thomas said suddenly, making Newt flush even more. He didn't know they were even going out, since when? Were they really going out? They haven't discussed it at all. Teresa gave a thumbs up, "Way to go, man!"

After talking with Teresa a bit more, Newt decided that they should head back upstairs, inviting Teresa who politely declined.

After sneaking past his parent in the kitchen, preparing dinner, he walked upstairs. When he got to his room, Thomas was already there.

"I forgot you have like teleportion or whatever," Newt mumbled, stepping over a discarded shirt as went to his bed. Thomas joined him, chuckling at Newt's comment. "It's not teleportion, I just think of where to go and I'm here," Thomas said, eliciting a snicker from Newt. "That's basically teleporting, god, I'm assuming you've never seen that movie that dictates the future and has teleportation and flying cars," Newt laughs, shrugging his shoulders.

Thomas crawled over, wrapping his arms around Newt's waist and pressing a soft kiss on Newt's exposed collarbone, receiving a sigh from Newt in content. Newt slipped his eyes shut, holding Thomas's forearms that were around him as he tilted his head to the side to make access to his neck, where Newt wanted attention at. Thomas trailed kisses up and down the small portion of Newt's neck, Newt whining softly.

Thomas pulled back, laying down and pulling Newt with him. Newt moved closer, resting his head on Thomas's pit, his arm draped around his stomach as Thomas used his other hand to relax his head on behind him. It was around seven and Newt wasn't tired at all but was feeling to contented to move as he started at the ceiling.

Newt's lamp flickered. The lights in the house flickered a lot, Newt got accustomed to it all.

"I'm sorry about Alby," Newt said after a few minutes of silence, opening his eyes and looking up at Thomas. Thomas shook his head. "No, I'm sure Alby really wanted it. But it scares me. It's so messed up... The world is messed up, living or non-living," Thomas mumbled, pressing his nose in Newt's blonde hair. Newt nodded, agreeing with Thomas that the world was indeed messed up.

~~~

April 3, 2009

I really like Thomas. We haven't really discussed it, but we've been together for four weeks. It's been three weeks since we've first done it, but it still feels like yesterday. He makes me so happy, even when I don't want to be. I think I love him.

~~~

Newt was tired. His parents frustrated him, they bothered him non-stop. They kept diagnosing him with depression and one time he exploded with rage because he's not depressed! He was just sad. He was getting eaten alive by his own terrifying thoughts.

He felt tension flowing through his whole body, wanting to get rid of it. He hasn't been at school in fifteen days, his parents recently found out when the school called after Newt hasn't turned up for the thirteenth day in a row. His dad was furious, threatening him to get his ass to school.

It just gave Newt another reason to not want to go.

Thomas stayed with him an respectable amount of time, most of his time spent in the basement with Teresa or scouting around the house, sometimes only staying with him for a couple hours before Newt tells him to leave. He was pushing Thomas away and he didn't even know it.

His nights were restless again, he missed Thomas.

There was a knock on his door, Newt moaning and wrapping his covers over his head. The door opened quietly, soft footsteps padding over to Newt before they stopped abruptly. Newt wondered if whoever it was thought they were asleep. There was rustling, then a sound of something heavy but noiseless falling to the scratched-up floor.

"You're taking sleeping pills?" A shocked voice asked, neither Thomas or his mum, but his dad. Oh god, Newt totally forgot about those damn pills.

Newt sighed grumpily, throwing the covers off of his whole body. His scrawny body slumped into a sitting position, avoiding his dad's eyes. "Actually, I forgot I had them 'till now," Newt mumbled truthfully. His dad sighed, walking over and sitting on the bed beside Newt, putting the orange container on the nightstand. His dad took in his body before giving a short sigh.

"Newt, you need help," Mr. Isaac said. Newt shook his head, frustration washing over him. "I don't! I just need you to stop telling me that I do," Newt said, biting his lip. "And if that's all you came in here to tell me then just get out!" Newt said, raising his voice. Mr. Isaac shook his head, "No Newt, look at you! You dropped out of school after a week, you're not eating, and you're moping around in bed all day! I get that you're pissed about moving but it's time to get the hell over it and grow up!" Mr. Isaac shouted, standing up halfway throughout his rant.

Newt was hurt, but pushed it back as he stood up, towering over his dad by a couple in centimetres. "Screw you! You don't get it and you never will because I'll never trust any of you enough to tell you!" Newt shouted, his eyes flaring with anger. Oh the nerve of his dad!

"We should've just left you in England with grandma, maybe then you'd actually be productive and worth something," Mr. Isaac said, eyeing Newt up and down before leaving the room, his face showing no emotion.

Newt felt tears roll down his cheeks. He grunted in disgust of himself before wiping the tears away roughly. He sat down on his bed, feeling numb and hopeless as tears fell. His chest was quaking and his breath came out in stutters.

He looked around him room, his attention going to his flickering lamp. His focus flowed down, where the taunting orange container teased him. He bit his lip, everything else blurring away as he reached for the pills.

His dad's words echoed in his head.

It's time to get the hell over it and grow up!

Maybe then you'd actually be productive and worth something.

The cruel words embedded into his brain and his shaky hands unscrewed the safety cap, pouring the white pills on his bed sheet. His sweaty fingers shakily picked one of the small pills up, and he dropped it easily on his tongue, swallowing it painfully dry. He pulled at his hair as he took two at the same time, forcing it down his dry throat. He took another pair, the wetness on his cheeks subsiding. Then he took a single one, crunching it with his teeth and moisting it with his saliva before swallowing.

Newt became brave, taking in four at a time, already feeling hazy but wanting to get it over with. After swallowing one after another, the four were down. He waited a few seconds, his throat itchy and vision becoming blurry. Newt curled up on himself, hugging himself as he leaned forward, heaving as the pills threatened to come back up.

Before Newt could find the strength to pick himself up and finish the rest, there was a loud shout calling his name.

"Newt, no!" There was a loud ringing in Newt's ears, everything was moving in slow motion. He was jerked up into a sitting position, limbs dropping and neck flopping, strong arms holding him up. Newt was already pathetically weak after only ten pills. There was shouting but it was muffled, Newt's ajar eyes were glassy and focused on the whiteness of the ceiling.

A hand gripped his chin and suddenly his hazy eyes were on a pair of dark brown eyes that Newt loved. Thomas.

Fingers were suddenly shoved down Newt's throat, tickling his dry throat as his body jerked and throat heaving. Newt wanted to die both metaphorically (because the damn heave hurt his stomach, what the hell) and really. Suddenly, liquid was being forced in his mouth and some of it slipped down his throat, making him choke. The fingers were back, and Newt threw up, the liquid giving him something to purge.

The front of Newt's shirt was wet, pills rolling off of his chest. Newt began sobbing unconsciously.

"It's okay, it's okay, Newt. I'm here, oh god," Thomas rambled, kissing Newt's sweaty forehead multiple times as he held the sobbing boy close to his chest. Thomas was crying too, why would Newt scare him like that? Why would he do that?

Newt mumbled incoherent words, his eyes lidded halfway close. Thomas held him, brushing his long, blonde hair back, placing a gentle kiss on his temple.

"Please don't do that again." Thomas mumbled against Newt's damp skin. Newt gargled in response.

 

Newt woke up with a massive headache and something small poking his hip. He slowly moved his hand down to where his hip laid against the bed, shifting his lower half up and grasping something small and circular-shaped. Newt pulled it up to see what it was, softly moaning when it was just a white pill. Newt threw it on his nightstand, turning over to try and sleep again because his headache made him tired.

When he opened his eyes after feeling someone watching him after turning, he saw Thomas. Thomas looked relieved and sad, and Newt cuddled closer to him, wrapping his arms around Thomas and pressing his head against his chest. Thomas held Newt tighter, and Newt didn't mind. If he was in Thomas's spot, he probably wouldn't want to let him go either.

Newt sighed, closing his eyes and falling back to sleep.

 

Newt woke up a few hours later, his headache becoming bare able as I tangled himself out of Thomas's tight hold. His movements woke Thomas up, who didn't seem as groggy as Newt did.

"Sorry," Newt mumbled when he noticed that Thomas was getting up. Newt swung his legs over the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees as he slouched forward.

What's wrong with him?

He remembers vaguely everything from last night, how he tried to overdose but Thomas made him throw them up before they could hurt him. Did he really want to die? Sort of. Only a sane mind wouldn't have the courage to take those pills, he was insane.

He moaned in shame, hands running up the side of his face before tugging his long hair. He felt so useless.

"Hey, stop that," Thomas muttered, pushing Newt's hands away from his head, taking his wrist and forcing Newt to stand up in front of him. Newt's eyes were glued to Thomas's inner elbow, head low in shame, watching the creases flex and then disappear behind his waist. Thomas was hugging him.

Newt slowly snaked up shaky hands around Thomas's neck, resting his cheek against Thomas's collarbone. Newt saw over Thomas's shoulder at the alarm clock that it was ten in the morning. Or the night. But the sun was much bright, gleaming into Newt's room behind the light blue curtains.

The sun was always happy and bright. It brightened up everything its rays touched. Newt was envious of the bloody sun.

Newt's stomach gargled for the first time in weeks. Thomas must've heard it too because he pulled away and looked straight into Newt's eyes, an unbelievable expression on his face. Newt looked down at his stomach, feeling another gurgle and vibration. He looked back up at Thomas.

"I'm hungry," Newt mumbled breathily. His stomach rebelled at the thought of food. Thomas smiled, taking Newt's hands and leading them out of his room, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. Newt was hungry.

Newt helped Thomas look for something to cook, finally settling upon Eggos because it was the only thing they found in the barely-full freezer. Newt wondered when the last time his mum went grocery shopping.

Newt put the frozen Eggos in the toaster, pushing the handle down and watched the irons inside the contraption heat up. Newt leaned over the counter, waiting for his Eggos to be done heating up, then two arms were being snaked around his waist and a body melted into his back. Thomas dug his nose into the back of Newt's ear, relishing the contented sigh that escaped Newt.

Newt'a heart fluttered when Thomas kissed his cheek, then temple. A loud ding from the toaster rang through the quiet house, then the aroma of blueberry waffles tickled Newf's stomach. Thomas let go momentarily to let Newt grab the waffles and placed one in the counter. He grabbed the maple syrup, squirting a decent amount before placing the other waffle on top of the syrup-covered waffle. It was a waffle sandwich

Thomas chuckled, "Wow. Never seen the before," he commented as he watched Newt take a bite. Newt chewed and swallowed with a light moan. "What? I used to do this when I was a kid," Newt said as he turned around and noticed he was blocked between the counter and Thomas. "Well that's adorable." Thomas said, wrapping one arm around Newt's neck and leading them to the living room.

"Haven't watched TV in a long time," Newt murmured, taking his fourth bite of his Eggo sandwich. "Our brain cells are less fried then people who watch TV for hours end each day," Said Thomas, a sheepish grin on his face. Newt flushed, sitting down on the couch and finishing his breakfast waffle. Thomas sat beside him, turning the TV on with the remote.

After a playful quarrel on what to watch, they both agreed on Cupcake Wars, Thomas falling sideways and pulling Newt with him so they both laid on the couch.

An episode passed quickly, Thomas rubbed his nose in Newt's hair. "Are you going to tell your parents? About those pills?" He asked when the credits rolled. Newt thoughts for a moment. Is he? Why should he tell them? They wouldn't understand and would try to get him help. He didn't want that.

"No.. I don't think so," Newt mumbled. Thomas nodded against the back of Newt's head, intertwining their fingers as another Cupcake Wars began to play.

A few hours later, it was half past four. They were on their seventh episode of Cupcake Wars when the front door was opened. Newt internally groaned and sat up. Newt looked down at Thomas and seen the other boy asleep, his chest slowly falling and rising back up before repeating its actions. Newt softly smiled at the sight, feeling euphoria wash over him.

He got up and walked to the living room entry, spotting his mum looking exhausted as she carried in her work bag. Mrs. Isaac brushed past Newt, heading to the kitchen. Newt hastily followed, his mum throwing her bag on the island raucously. Newt furrowed his eyebrows, sensing his mum was in a bad mood.

"What's up with you?" Newt asked before he could stop himself. His mum turned around from where she was about to pour herself a cup of cold coffee, a glare etched on her face. "Work! What else, huh?" Mrs. Isaac howled, slamming the steel coffee pot on the stove, brown liquid splashing out from the neck opening.

"What would I be doing? All I do is work while you stay in bed all day and your father plays with his chemistry set and probably screws the secretary of his work place," Mrs. Isaac muttered, drinking the coffee plain. Newt felt bad and slightly angry. "I'm sorry," He mumbled, crossing his arms defensively. Mrs. Isaac scoffed. "Yeah, sure."

Newt narrowed his eyes at her in disgust, completely annoyed.

"While you're actually up, right now, why don't you run to the supermarket down a couple of blocks. Get a few loafs of bread and milk or something, be productive instead of laying around all day," Mrs. Isaac snarled, fishing around in her jacket pocket and pulling out $50. She smacked it on the table, walking past an angry, hurt Newt.

Newt bit his lip, his cheeks pink from frustration. He walked over and took the money before dashing up the stairs and to his room. He slammed his door closed, hatching it lock.

He kicked the leg of his desk in anger, causing the whole contraption to quake and tip over some objects. His clammy hands gripped the paper money, eyes flowing to the window where it was open slightly. His curtains blew from the light wind outside, the sun gleaming inside his room and giving it natural lighting as his lamp's light burnt out completely a few days ago.

He was sick of everything. He just wanted to leave this bloody house and never come back. Maybe, no, defiantly take Thomas too.

He went to his closet, knocking shirts off their hangers as he frustratingly reached the top shelve where his pants were. He pulled down the first pair he touched, accidentally pulling some other pants down as he took off his pyjama pants. He pulled on the jeans that were once tight but now barely hung around his hips, slipping the money in the pocket as he grabbed a sweater from the hanger.

Putting the sweater on, Newt had only one thing on his mind: he was leaving this place.

He left everything else behind, his phone, his belongings, and rushed downstairs. His mum wasn't anywhere to be seen. Newt went to the living room, only to find the TV off and Thomas gone. Newt groaned, looking around the hallway before peeking in the kitchen. It was empty. Newt looked in the dining room, again it was empty.

A light bulb in Newt's head lit up and he almost tripped as he ran over to the basement door. He gripped the silver doorknob, acquainted with the dark, dreary-ness of it all as he screamed into darkness. "Thomas! Thomas, come here!"

Newt moved back, widening the door as he waited patiently. A thought came to mind. What if some thugs in the street tried to hurt him? He thought about self-defensive weapons, moving to the kitchen to grab a knife to pocket when he thought of something else.

His mum's hand gun.

Newt slowly climbed the stairs just in time as Thomas appeared from the basement entrance. "What?" Thomas asked, only to be shushed by Newt who peered down at him over the stair railings. Newt reached the top, walking down the hallway, the lights flickering. Newt turned the corner, his parents' bedroom door ajar. Newt creeped closer, peeking in the gap and heard the shower faintly.

Tension left Newt as he nursed through the door, going to the nightstand by the bed and opening the drawer. It was empty besides a book. Newt tried the bottom one, seeing it cluttered of scarfs and full to the brim. He shuffled some scarfs, feeling a cardboard box scrap against his finger tips. Gripping the box height, Newt pulled it out, pushing some scarfs to the side. When Newt had the box out, he placed it on the floor in front of him.

The box was the size of Newt's hand. He slid the lid off, seeing a small, black gun resting underneath it. He picked it up, the gun having more weight than Newt could have guessed. He skimmed the device, noticing that no bullets were inside the box so he assumed the gun was fully loaded and ready to use just in case of a robbery.

He pocketed the gun, shoving the box under the bed and closing the drawer. Newt rushed out of the room, leaving the door open as it was and rushed down the stairs. Thomas was still waiting, leaning against the wall at the bottom of the stairs. Newt passed him, heading to the front door.

"We're leaving," Newt informed as he slipping on his crummy shoes. "What?" Thomas asked, flabbergasted. Newt rolled his eyes in frustration, his anger towards his my flaring up a little more. "We're leaving!" Newt yelled in a hush tone, grabbing the doorknob and opening the door. Thomas didn't say anything but followed Newt who stepped outside for the first time in weeks.

Kids played on the street across, the sun was just setting. Newt climbed off the porch, hearing Thomas close the door. The gun in Newt's pocket swung with each step almost tauntingly. Newt had to remind himself that he only had it for self-defence in case of thugs.

"We can't leave," Thomas begged when they reached the gate, causing Newt to stop walking abruptly. "We have to leave, I can't stay here anymore and I want you to come," Newt said, unlocking the gate and turning around to face Thomas who looked like a kicked puppy. "I want to leave," Thomas whispered, "if you do," he continued.

Newt nodded, "Let's go, then," He said between gritted teeth. Frustration clouded his mind, making his thoughts hazy. Newt turned around and began walking right. His shoes smacked against the pavement and he kept his head down. He heard Thomas run to catch up with him after a few seconds.

"No, Newt," Thomas said, putting his hand on Newt's shoulder. Newt roughly pulled away and turned around in an instant. "I'M LEAVING, THOMAS!" Newt screamed, watching Thomas flinch. "And you're coming!" Newt finished, stuffing his hands in his sweater pocket and fingers wrapping around the gun for a brief moment before letting go. Thomas looked sad.

Newt turned around, unable to handle that look, and continued walking again. "Even if I wanted to come, and trust me, I do!, I can't!" Thomas shouted after Newt, who stopped again. "Why can't you?" Newt asked with curiosity as he looked around the now empty streets. "I can't leave the house, Newt. I died there and now I can't leave it," Thomas said, causing Newt's breath to quicken.

Newt turned around, giving Thomas one last glance. The boy had his shoulders hunched forward as he awkwardly rubbed his forearm, his expression sad. Newt faced the street before him, his heart breaking as he began walking forward.

"Newt? Come on, come back," Thomas called after Newt, who tried his best to ignore the calls as he kept walking. "Newt!" Thomas yelled, reluctantly racing over to the boy who was slipping through his fingers.

Newt felt so angry at everything. He wants to leave and the boy he loves a lot can't even come with him because he's dead! Life was so unfair, Newt thought as tears threatened to fall.

"Newt," Newt heard Thomas breathe, then there were arms around his shoulders. Newt struggled against Thomas, trying to pull away. Why must Thomas make walking away so difficult? Newt grunted and was close to screaming at Thomas to let him go.

When Newt realized Thomas wasn't going to let go until he calmed down and agree to go back home, which he really didn't want to do, he let a string of words escape him.

"Fine! Why don't you kill me instead, huh? I don't want to live anyway, and I'm trying to run away but you can't even come! That's so unfair, god. Just kill me, please! Take me out of my misery!" Newt screamed, shocking Thomas to let go of Newt. Newt was facing him, gun in hand and offering it to Thomas who looked down at it with wide eyes.

The words horrified Thomas, how could Newt ask him to do something like this? How could he possibly kill the one person he truly loved?

"Kill me or I'll kill myself. Kill me! Do it!" Newt screamed, his eyes hazy with insanity which made Thomas's chest tighten and throat lumpy. "Newt..." Thomas whispered brokenly. Newt suddenly twisted around and grabbed Thomas by the hand and forced him to hold the gun. He yanked it toward himself, forcing it up until the end of the pistol was pressed against his own forehead.

Thomas tried to pull his hand away, but Newt was too strong. "I can't, Newt, I can't." Thomas gasped, voice trembling as Newt's angry brown eyes looked straight into his.

"KILL ME!" And then Newt's eyes cleared, as if he'd gained one last trembling gasp of sanity, and his voice softened. "Please, Tommy. Please."

With his heart falling into a black abyss, Thomas pulled the trigger.

Blood splattered Thomas as Newt's already lifeless body crumpled to the ground. Thomas screamed. Why did he do that? Thomas forced himself to look at what he done, dropping the gun and falling in a heap of sobs as he fell to his knees. Newt's lifeless eyes were open and glossy, crimson blood trickling down the side of his face. The cause of the blood trickling was the gruesome bullet hole in the center of Newt's head, streams oozing out and dying Newt's blonde hair a dark red.

The kids were gone, probably got scared by the sudden gunshot in the usual quiet neighbourhood. People were peeking out of their windows, only to see a body laying on the sidewalk.

Thomas sobbed, his chest hurting and heart feeling as if he was stabbed multiple times. Thomas reached for Newt's limp hand, intertwining their fingers one last time. Thomas tried hard to compose himself, wiping the tears away and forcing himself to smile a bit. There were sirens in the distance, and Thomas leaned over the body and pressed a light kiss to Newt's warm cheek. "I've failed to help you. I'm so sorry," Thomas muttered brokenly, forcing himself to stand on shaky legs and walk back to the house as an ambulance drove down the street.

Thomas couldn't watch anymore as the ambulance stopped and nurses began surrounding the already-dead boy. Thomas sulked back to the house, the sirens still strong and taunting him. He went through the back door, ignoring Mrs. Isaac's frantic shouts of Newt's name, unable to hold himself together as he was the only one who new where Newt was.

Thomas shut the door behind him, barely making it to his current room he stayed at when Newt took over his before he fell to the ground. Sobs tackled his body, pinning him to the floor as a rush of tears flowed down his face.

"Tom?" Thomas heard Teresa call. Teresa was standing a few feet away from him, her dark hair blowing in the non-existent wind. "What happened? Where's Newt?"

Thomas felt pathetic as another sob broke away at the mention of Newt's name. Teresa gave him a pity full look, crouching down and going on her knees in front of him. "Are you upset because of Newt?" She asked. Thomas nodded even though he wasn't completely sure if he was more angry at himself or Newt for making him do that and force him to go through with this.

"Tell me," Teresa insisted, "calm yourself and then tell me."

It took Thomas minutes to settle himself, the sirens a few houses away completely gone. He pushed himself up, scooting over to sit against the wall. Teresa copied him, sitting a few inches away from him. Teresa saw how sad Thomas looked, but was torn on how to feel because she didn't know what conflict Thomas was going through.

There was silence for a few minutes, Thomas not sure how he should explain it without breaking into a fit of sobs. Taking a shaky breath, Thomas decided to go with the latter.

"I shot Newt," he said, hearing Teresa's small gasp. "In the head. He begged me to, Teresa," Thomas choked out, hearing Newt's words embedded into his head. "I knew he was unhappy. I tried to help him, I just didn't know how, but I did try," Teresa nodded understandingly. "I know you did," she commented, rubbing his arm soothingly.

"He tried running away and wanted me to come. But I can't, you know that," Teresa nodded again. "And when I told him I guess he had an inner conflict but he would've still been alive if I hadn't run after him, I couldn't lose him. He would've been gone and alive in the streets downtown, defending himself by dangerous people with the gun I didn't know he had," Thomas muttered, voice cracking. "But now he's dead," Teresa interjected, the words stabbing Thomas's heart. "Yes! God!" Thomas shouted, tears leaking from his eyes.

"Enough of that, Tom. Just be glad that he didn't die on the premises of this house because then he would've become one of us and do you think he would've want that?" Teresa questioned. Thomas shook his head, knowing that all Newt wanted was to be happy. If he had died on the premises of this house he would become a ghost and probably turn out like Alby.

Alby.

Alby got taken away by Death. Alby was not a ghost anymore. Holy shit.

"Teresa, I have to go see Newt," Thomas muttered. Teresa raised an eyebrow that said I-was-thinking-that-too. "I mean, I'm already dead, and that woman, Death, has the power to take unfortunate ghosts to Paradise, right?" Thomas asked, his spirits lifting up. Teresa shrugged. "Haven't seen Alby since that time she visited."

Thomas felt his stomach jump. "I remember her saying how she only appears if you really want to die, but for ghosts it's if you really want to go where you're supposed to go," Teresa said, earning a curt nod from Thomas.

Thomas closed his eyes, mentally thinking of death and how he wanted it so bad. He wanted to be with Newt. He needed to be with Newt. He thought harder, how he didn't want to be here anymore.

Thomas felt a strong gust of wind and he opened his eyes, seeing non other than the woman with blonde hair, sickly pale skin, and black clothing. Her red lips gave him a soft smile.

"I felt you calling me, Thomas. Is this what you really want?" She asked, her voice as professional as last time. Thomas stood up, a wave of courage flowing through his veins. "Yes. Take me to Newt." Thomas said. The woman smiled, offering her arm. Thomas stepped forward on wobbly legs, sliding his arm through hers.

The woman gave Thomas another smile before looking straight ahead. A white light appeared in the center of the room and it gradually got wider. When it got too bright for Thomas's eyes, the woman began walking forward and so did Thomas. He heard a loud ringing in his ears, his eyes slipping shut and only one thing crossing his mind.

Newt.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! My other Newtmas one shot is titled 'Star-less' and it's very short if you're interested. :)


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